POETRY

Morning Complaint

By Lawrence Kaplun     VOLUME 49.3

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The birds are doing
what I think of as the one thing
they’re skilled at. Green leaves
cover their bodies,
but not the ugly sound.

Nature—not much appeal,
though I like the mountains.
Today’s the first day of spring.
I'm not interested.

I’d like to go back
to sleep. This used to be
a quiet place to live. Then
the neighbors

moved into the trees,
the sky--
are they everywhere,
and I am nowhere?

I look at the birds
out my window,
singing, to me:

be in the present moment,
breathe in that scent,
pollen, flowers which
make me sick.
I don’t know what
I should be smelling.

It’s very nice though.
My mind’s not right,
is something
Robert Lowell said.

I look at the birds,
the oak tree—that’s
what it is, I had to
Google it to make sure.


LAWRENCE KAPLUN’s poems have appeared in The Gay & Lesbian Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Sonora Review, Toad, and elsewhere. He lives in New York City.

VOLUME 49.3